Reckoning
by AliGem
Summary: An Arkham escapee may prove useful in Gotham's reckoning. She may have other plans.


Author's note: If the story seems enjoyable for others I'll continue it. If it doesn't then I'll continue it in private. I have no beta and am returning from an unspeakably huge writing hiatus. PLUS, I am learning my way around this new iPad. Please, be gentle as I fumble to find my previous groove. Constructive criticism is warmly welcomed. If you're a jerk, I'll call you out. May even report you. I have zero idea where and if I will even take this story. But I must sate the beast, for now. Enjoy! -AliGem

'Reckoning'

She crawls from the maw of Arkham, regurgitated and reborn from its guts like a transformed thing. Only the important parts left, bones and little more. Belched from the filmy throat of the asylum she staggers into the cacophony of a storm of sirens and rumbling, festering clouds.

I am released.

Whether by her own hand or the work of another, it mattered not. The pavement underneath her bare feet is real enough, although she is too cold to feel it. The frigid rain pelts and stings like acid as it dares not mix with the bile left on her from the flooded belly of the dying facility.

Five years.

Five fucking years I've spent trapped in that God forsaken hellhole.

I am uncaged now.

This night's tone is temperamental at best, treacherous at worst but the elation she feels almost overcomes her. As the crimson wails draw nearer she drops to her knees and relishes as the near-freezing pour christens her in newfound freedom.

Glorious.

I am glorious.

A too-close crash of deadly bolt sends her out of her reveille. She stands as quickly as she can and trots on ungainly legs halfway through a dark vein that runs deep into Gotham City. Now drenched, her core temperature is dropping and she can no longer see her breath.

I have to get somewhere warm.

Darkly, she considers Crane to be searching for her. But the controlled chaos of the emergency vehicles coupled with a chorus of shouts and screams resonates hope that the good doctor mayhap have his hands currently full. She squints back into the pitch at the bleeding and wounded institution curling in upon itself as it convulses into its final death throes.

Choke, bitch.

And it is a beautiful sight as she lustfully watches it crescendo into waste. Footsteps and heavy panting pulls her out of her morbid ecstasy as she cautiously turns around.

Three of them.

The sniveling and gnashing of disingenuous grins threefold in her direction fill her chest with such fury it tempts to fissure her breastbone.

One of them speaks but the curtain of rainfall drowns out his low octave as he approaches menacingly towards her. They all do. So she reaches down for a half-broken fifth of what was once undoubtedly whisky. Her fingers freeze around the neck as she waits with abated clutch.

I will swipe for the brachial.

She does so as he advances. He drops and starts gasping. Continued unintelligible deep sounds of his percussion voice crackle in the heavy pour as something akin to ink injects and mixes with the silver, moonlit pools of water.

The rest of the action is veiled by a sweet curtain of rain and recorded by sporadic, helpful illuminations of the night sky's bright scars. Moments pass and she's left out of breath and bathed in a warmth that is not her own.

Did I just black out?

Criminals seep out of Arkham like ants fleeing a compromised hill. Somewhere above upon the building tops a dark savior speeds to aid in the protection of his beloved city. She guesses it is only momentary darkness after another pass of lightning or a blink of her eyes as she glances up just in time to only sense movement.

The hell?

It is time to advance and find a warm, abandoned building to seek refuge. Gotham has no shortage of these. The rain briefly cuts itself off in time for her to spot three more figures at the mouth of the alley. She freezes.

…fucking kidding me...

Her electrifying adrenaline dump is waning and her body feels drained and starting to ache. Her defensive fight for survival the most exercise she's had in months. She wonders how she even did it.

Her visible breath returns from the rise of internal temperature from activity and it catches the attention of the largest of the three forms. Hulking, it turns its impossibly imposing bulk in her direction. The storm betrays her and flashes a garish, blinding sallow fracture in the sky. It illuminates fucking everything for a hardy three seconds.

Holy fucking shit fuck.

The masked man notices her presence before the flash but it provides ample visibility for him to take in the carnage of three bloody bags of gore that were not so shortly before living beings. His eyes scan to the glass shard clasped in her hand then to the scrubs of the asylum she wore.

204863

The light momentarily retreats as if to observe from a safer distance. "Bring him to me. I may have some use of him yet." The massive, muffled tone commands his henchmen. He is not one to be trifled with. All her good instincts tell her that.

The voice indicates assisted breathing, as if speaking through some sort of regulator. Lightning betrays them both for a mere second for the girl to catch a glance of the monstrous man before her. Indeed, a mechanical piece is mounted upon his face, like a carefully constructed alien bred to instill fear and intimidation. Maybe practical? She isn't sure. Crane's had had duel purposes...

She feels trepidation but not out of either two emotions. The leader's men leave his flanks immediately to heed his command and flee into the darkness with conviction. They exit so silently into the night and inwardly she knows the subject of interest was Crane. She feels it in the pit of her gut. In her revolted loins, she knows with undiluted certainty that he is close. And he is searching for her.

And she will not turn back towards Arkham. No matter the necessity of a possible life-saving detour nor from the added delight at the sight of a broken once-kingdom, laying on its side, lungs collapsing in billows of dust and spray that would illicit joy in her every fiber. She will not turn, she will hold her ground. She may break but she will NOT turn.

"You did this."

It is a statement. The cadence and inflection in his undertone presents both a pristine intelligence and virulent malevolence for reasons she couldn't quite dissect. This is an educated man, classically even. It is all in the timing of words and syllables and he had it.

Fucking perfect.

A genius giant. Bet he isn't friendly.

"I was attacked." She reassures. Although, deep in her belly she knows this is no hero before her. No dark knight before her to question and persecute her actions. He might feel the need to squash her anyway.

"You need not find shame in the necessary, coordinated event of Gotham's reckoning. Embrace it and find it shall embrace you." He affirms as he steps toward her while she considers this.

Boy, have I been out of the loop for too long.

"I embrace the need to be left the fuck alone. Get out of my way. I don't have time for philosophy." She spits.

She goes to move past his solid frame but he rushes her with incredible speed despite his sheer bulk. He is towering over her. The top of her head a solid three inches below the end of his sternum. She flicks her green, almond shaped eyes upward for the briefest of moments.

"You dare make demands of me? You are either very bold or very stupid." He breathes from the considerable height above her.

"I'm undoubtedly both. I have a confirmed, official doctor's report. But it's back there." She sticks a thumb behind her and again tries to brush by him but he places the back of his hand on her shoulder. And she can't move as he tenderly brushes the side of her face with the back of that same gloved hand. She visibly shivers at the contact.

It's a fucking pressure point and I can't fucking move.

"There. You got what you wanted. I'm afraid of you. Now unlock me." She rasps. Fury welling up from her belly. "Now." She finishes with a voice not unlike the beveling of a blade.

"Interesting." The goliath man breathes as his mammoth paw constricts around her throat. The pressure is minute but steady. It makes its point. They both know it would take next to no effort for him to crush her trachea as easily as if snapping his fingers.

"Fear is not what I desire." He keeps that subtle pressure at her throat just to see how she would respond.

"Good. Because I'm mostly furious as fuck." She hisses and her edge is perfectly honed. Deftly he hurls her into the nearby brick. Her head meets it first. Without delay, her old friend darkness greets her once again.


End file.
